"ostensible" poems
Always it does,
But I can't shiver,
Coldest in the river,
Deathly river of tears,
Excruciating is the pain,
Filthy salty water it flows,
Grandiose in society kills me,
Hefty personal problems prey,
I can't swallow so I don't eat any,
****** of ego I turn into since long,
Killed me multiple times in a go daily,
Lovelorn I die each moment I try to cry,
Mouthful of unfriendly words help me die,
Name of mine means incomparable literally,
Ostensible concept of love entices me so much,
Put me in a jail and stuff me behind the bars now,
Quailing me is the loneliness that has been forever,
Ruling out few occasions of company I stay so aloof,
Sparing some days of happiness most are depressing,
Toying with my own heart I feel my heart is hydrogen,
Unattractive it is not & it could not stay segregated ever,
Volumes of my voice have died out & so has my hearing,
Wailing deep in my heart I let this sorrow seep in to sink,
Xenophobic I ain't but of course I dislike enemies of love,
Yucky thoughts of people assassinated my love last night,
Zeroed in on the catalyst -strange enough- she herself is it.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC
1395
After all Birds have been investigated and laid aside—
Nature imparts the little Blue-Bird—assured
Her conscientious Voice will soar unmoved
Above ostensible Vicissitude.
First at the March—competing with the Wind—
Her panting note exalts us—like a friend—
Last to adhere when Summer cleaves away—
Elegy of Integrity.
2.1k
He’d been able, after some gentle persistence,
To wheedle his way into the place
(He’d been vaguely recognized by the caretaker,
A certain affable familiarity his stock in trade, after all)
And he had been decidedly deliberate in his search for the shoes,
Though he’d been quite certain where he’d left them,
Simply hoping to drink this all in just one more time
But though the rooms were ostensibly unchanged
(He'd noted the odd knick-knack and piece of bric-a-brac
Had been secreted out, to be preserved or pawned)
They held no fascination for him now,
Simply concoctions of hardwood flooring,
Decorative wall coverings, staid pieces of furniture
(Indeed, the paterfamilias of this whole mélange
Increasingly beyond his recall-- he could hearken back
To a certain hail-fellow-well-met in his demeanor,
And he'd had an affecting smile,
But he was unable to conjure any further details
From the recesses of his memory)
And with nothing else to moor him to these silent rooms,
He'd slipped on the ostensible reasons he'd come in the first place
(Their uppers maintaining their whiteness
Through any number of bleachings,
The soles worn to a near smoothness)
And, nodding perfunctorily to the mansion's steward,
He slipped away, heading to some other party
Carrying on in more or less perpetuity,
The battered bottoms of his shoes
Leaving just the faintest marks as he crossed the dunes,
Soon to be buffed away altogether by the breeze.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 11:29 AM UTC
There is, one supposes, a certain nobility
In simply carrying on with the whole **** thing,
Though that assumes some epiphany,
Some clawing toward grace, or at least common decency.
He had, in some once upon a time,
Cast his lot with a better class of people, so to speak;
It had not ended well, though,
In line with how such things are resolved,
His fall not a spectacular, tempestuous thing,
But a gradual, veiled affair, not a fiery spectacle
With metaphorical medals cut away, epaulets stripped,
But a shaded silence, a shrouded yet palpable shunning.
And so he is here, in this fading little city
Perched forlornly on the banks of a nondescript little river,
Having taken an apartment above a pair of offices
(One occupied by a seemingly ancient and disinterested lawyer,
The other by an ostensible private investigator)
Which is sufficiently large and reasonably warm
Come the seemingly perpetual winter.
He lives, if not in such a manner
As he was once accustomed to, comfortably enough:
He has his practice, and an adjunct position
At the little cow college down the road in Alfred,
And there are the occasional women,
Sad divorcees marooned in this hill country,
Dewy-eyed undergraduates unable to discern
Suit coats that are a bit shabby and somewhat passe
(There is a haberdasher in Buffalo whose garments
Are in the neighborhood of up-to-snuff,
And he could certainly manage a trip
Down to New York for better tailoring,
Though he would be traveling in places and circles
Where he is not remembered fondly.)
Stepping outside, he encounter snowflakes,
Light and unprepossessing,
But he studies the sky anxiously, apprehensively
(One learns that he must pay Nature its due fealty in these climes,
And give into the primal, the instinctual)
For he knows what can transpire
When the wind blows off the big lake out west just so,
Turning innocuous flurries into a malevolent blankness,
Making the landscape inscrutable, alien, utterly terrifying.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 10:01 AM UTC
Follow the rabbit he will take you to happiness
Do not be late, do not miss that date
You could get lost in a sea of confusion
You would be deceived by the ostensible outlook
You could go fetch seven little men
You could be the fairest of them all
Beware of the deep and everlasting sleep
You would be deceived by the apple's red color
Worry about the petals, they are falling so quickly
He will be stuck that forever if you cannot make him love you
Keep an eye on the rose, it is far too beautiful to let go
You will be deceived by the appearance of a beast
Stuck in a tower, do not ever look down
Grow out your hair past the tall brick walls
Spot a good man, make him rescue your heart
You would be deceived by the family relations
Cleaning the bathroom, making the bed
Sneak out to town, be invited to a dance
"Fairy Godmother, please just give me once chance"
You would be deceived by the loss of one shoe
So waiting, I am waiting for an answer to come
Looking for one man to be the one that I want
A fairy-tale ending is nothing I am after
For I would be deceived by the misinterpretations of the story
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 8:28 PM UTC
This is a thoroughly post-modern phenomenon.
[Breathe, don't be nervous. It's fine. Wallah, you're not doing anything wrong.]
Digitally arranged meetings with ostensible strangers yet with more familiarity than our ancestors could imagine.
An arranged meeting,
a warm greeting,
a sensing,
a feeling.
“Are you Sami?”
“I am,” as I posture for a hug.
[She’s actually more beautiful than I expected. Her ample curls smell like conditioner and sunshine.]
“So you’re Kuwaiti?"
"Yea, I moved here when I was 18, to Kansas of all places."
"To be honest, I had to look up the emoji flag from your profile. My Muslim WhatsApp group helped me out.”
“Oh, okay. So you’re Muslim?”
“Yea, I was raised Muslim; my mom married a Kuwaiti in the 80s, blah blah blah.”
“What? Your mom lived in Kuwait?”
“Yea, kinda crazy, I know, but it’s a small world.”
[Small worlds make the gaps between souls smaller.
Who knew such a small place could leave such a big impact on so many lives?
Certainly neither of us.
Serendipity?
Allah y3alam.]
“Why do lesbians discriminate against bisexuals? You’d think of all people, they wouldn’t be so judgmental.”
“You’d think, but you’d be wrong. It’s like we have a plague.” Her voice goes on, but my mind drifts off.
[Tortoise-shell glasses, beautiful lashes, manicured eyebrows that frame flickering dark eyes, encased in a forest of curls, legging laced thighs, oh my. ::Deepsigh. Pay attention to what she’s saying! Oh my, she’s my type. This is bad. No, no, hamdilah, this is good.]
“Do you want another round?” the bar keep’s inquiry snaps me back to reality. I interrupt to suggest a change of location. [Perhaps something less commercial, less public, less straight, more private, and more intimate.]
“It’s only a short walk.”
“Yea, let’s do it.”
[By short walk, I mean three doors down from the bar. The perks of suggesting the venue.]
“Shoes off?”
“Yea, it’s habit, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
She sits, crosses her long legs, and gives me this look. My heart flutters; I remember my manners:
“Can I make you a drink? What’s your poison? Gin or *****
I mix our drinks and think:
[She must like me.
This is good.
I’m glad we did this digital dance to find romance.
What a treasure, finding this post-modern habibi.
Alhamdulilah,
Lucky me.]
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC
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Aug 14, 2020
Aug 14, 2020 at 2:55 AM UTC
as i look around at what does surround
i have the urge to create a beauty that only lives without.
but what is on the exterior may be inferior, often ostensible;
a courage concealing doubt.
i am my own confidant, even when i am not confident.
but my choices are mine alone, only my thoughts are ones that i condone.
so with these choices i shall exclaim:
i am
but not
the one i shall blame.
Jan 28, 2010
Jan 28, 2010 at 9:57 PM UTC
I wear my watch on the inside of my wrist keeping time by the pulsing of overfilled veins.
If I'm honest, the seconds pass blurry when you are around, red pounding at the blue surface reminding my life of it's vigorous momentum as the watch face marks it's disappearance.
I can do nothing about it's circular cycle, nor the manner in which I mirror it, recycling threadbare thoughts and feelings in ostensible new purpose.
I am a walking contradiction formed of practical mysticism and coffee stained teeth, spinning poetry from numb fingertips onto the ghosts of birch trees, fleeing from my wildest dreams.
Meet me,
half way between belief and reality at the junction of duality and I'll reveal I have no true identity - no creed no name no history,
only chaotic shifting and angry bumblebees drilling sinkholes for visitors toes to curl into as they fashion temporary homes in me.
I am solar soliloquy.
Astrological antiquity curses me to orbit you habitually.
Eye of the storm, hand of the beast, souls of the many downtrodden and hungry, asking for shoulders to stand upon shaky.
Grant me your three wishes, and I will conjure infinity from our palms clasped tight in secrecy.
Tell me,
neglectful lover,
when did my beauty become a pleasurable void, to be touched
yet left unseen,
when did my spirit become matter
buried under the mind of desire and empty chatter.
Humor me,
say that the meeting of our skin is more than physical proximity say,
that you dream of my flowers growing from your ribcage say,
that the gods granted us an opportunity for greatness,
say that our kiss is a portal to Andromeda and that you could get lost there forever - I know I have.
Yet, even light years away I hear the tick tocking ticktick of my heart bleeding into itself.
I am fleeting.
I am deafening.
I am a forgetful timekeeper,
late to my own re-birthing.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
Languages are elastic realities of ages
Going beyond political and historical chauvinism
That selfishly blends into exclusive nations
The European languages we slavishly speak
In diversity of the world is a ****** testimony,
Ostensible Afro-American cultural civilization
Are mere protégés of transplanted tongues
In forlorn position of knowledge
That derides cultural Darwinism
Unto this last that Language
is born and grow from the native soil,
Nurtured by facts of history in timbre of altruism
Where misfortune of history ***** my stature
Planting unknown and unnamed language
In my ****** soil of pristine times
My conscience not yet passively accepting
The changing misfortunes of the transplanted English
As they are at current times
The negations of vicious cultural Darwinist
Condemning me a victim of tonguistry.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
Light illuminates
my dis-entombed thoughts
on gilded kite
prodding dust patina
mellow mote drifts lilt
hoping not to puncture the membrane
– I run –
attempted lift
fresh soil turns under foot
tread and gait escalate
pocked path reverberates
my insistence to avoid puncturing
Deceleration
Halted earthen assault
I ****** with machination the aerial apparatus
prior to complete stagnation
Decrepit deceit eschewed
Again – I run –
taut paper snap
sheet lift
weightless message intones
in knotted vertebrae, and closed palm
my chest lifts in unison
diaphragmatic sigh punched hollow
rhapsodic finesse
privy to atmospheric secret
my hand translates the ethereal
smooth fluttering undulations
oscillating tugs, dives, and slay
Calligraphic flourishes echo the linguistic menagerie
Byzantine illustrations
Pellucid canvas drunk with dye
Evinced in muddled thought
The ink bleeds down the twine
indigo echoes of entombed vein 'neath flesh
Translucent pulse haunts taut string
furling arc – tensed tissue
acrobatic hydrofoil
tugs – glides – taunts
Ostensible horror conveyed in clenched palm
The ether curtly responds
Swift redirect
Sliced palm
Tethered scream evocation
cochineal deluge concedes
Deep purple liquid clings
Congealing - between sodden twine and palm
Whispering currents furl saturated line
into fresh groove, disturbing the clot
The wound bucks as flotsam
Relentless onslaught
I yield -
I release you
Your ethereal message tattooed into my palm
Some things were ne'er meant to be restrained
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
The battle of love,
Is fought with love and patience.
You’ll be broken ,
With just memories left;
Shattered with happiness and sadness on the floor of mind;
You’ll die everyday inside to get it all back!
If it has started , it has to end..
I don’t want an ending.
I’ll fight through the dooms day.
But, I don’t want an ending.
Scared with the story coming to an end,
I want to die with story being narrated on my graveyard.
With proud I’ll be listening to this great tale of mine;
With harps and birds chirping in my immortal mind.
I’ll **** the king and the queen because the prince and princess demand to live.
The war has just begun my ostensible admirer;
The love is fair, but I doubt the war.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:51 AM UTC
At some time in past, pacing dispersed deliberated fine,
I met accidentally childhood a mate close to mine;
Yet, he is not mendicant, stiff replete,
Become visible altogether equally, drew sight;
'Hastily reach somewhere I', was my only answer - ignite.
If no symphony exists in human race, matter excite.
Soon the spirit stirred to delineate-
Many eyes were fixed at me and comrade.
He too is man of dignity and pride
Well learnt, self-reliant, vigorous and gratified;
Little his fanatic and freak made him waif
And confirm not an ideal of living safe.
Astonishingly perk, perhaps, he concluded actual existence,
Sneer with splashing note on my strange performance:
Set uncombed hair posting both hands thereon
Marched towards destination unsettled in gloomy way-worn.
It is gesture tells standard all of us.
In as for as, society co-operate with loquacious
Hugged not poor and deserving due to hesitate,
Victorious appreciated beyond measure those ne'er violate.
Turn round the cycle pursuing principles certain we feel,
Ready not to deny ostensible reserved in our deal
An artless inquiry knock but in vain
Just digest, can landscape bloom without rain?
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 8:26 AM UTC
I am working on a dream:
it is sensible,
not ostensible.
I am working on a dream:
which makes sense
to make compensable.
I am working on a dream:
it is significant,
not dispensable.
I am working on a dream:
it is perceptible,
but hard to reach.
I am working on a dream.
I am sensible:
satisfied with thinking.
I am working on dream:
which I have to wake up from
in order to be insane enough
to make it come true.
Jan 17, 2010
Jan 17, 2010 at 2:27 AM UTC
Science
Bathed in electric impulse, drowning in syrupy endorphins, I breathe a swampy breath through your tangled hair. Your bare feet are pressed against the windshield, toe knuckles white from curling. You slither your tongue around the twisted contours of my ear and I writhe like a primordial amoeba in a cesspool of gene pools. Evolution is a joke.
Souls
Ostensible existence, like life in a dream where someone grabs you by your ears, shouting, “This is real!” before their hands are vapor and they float away. You watch the mist of your assailant and remember that you’re dreaming. You wake up, hopefully next to someone. Someone who holds you by your ears and whispers that she’s real. Someone who’ll evaporate, who you’ll evaporate to follow.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 9:33 AM UTC
ostensible smiles,
and clammy palms,
whirling thoughts,
and checking if
you're still breathing.
treacherous mouth,
please don't blurt
anything stupid.
you anxious heart,
fulfill normal speed.
the truth is
i feel exposed.
there, i ******* said it -
vulnerable and small,
adorning my favorite
shirt, now soaked
through.
tracing eyes
looking my way,
pinning me down
my seat. i am fine,
i promise.
ignore my unworthy
presence, please.
what i hate the most
are interactions like this -
conversations with the person
trapped inside my head.
she's me. she's
unreasonable, tired
and scared.
for how can a room
full of people
choke you
without laying a finger.
make you squirm.
make you hide further.
shrinking into a corner.
until you're just a
sweaty frigid wall of
anxiety.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 4:43 AM UTC
Along the path of definite course
No repent, no sense of remorse
All she know is action, promise
River converges to a distant ocean.
No question of dictator’s levity
Negative, negative this time the gravity
Marshaled by ostensible banks
Pointed Grabble makes the poignant
All she know is action, promise
River converges to a distant ocean.
Stream, wears, canal or notches
All counts for philanthropy
Against the odds still reclusive
Slavish devotion but pain legacy.
All she know is action, promise
River converges to a distant ocean.
But she keeps the motive clear
To attain the grace continue the voyage
Million stars to play the role
One grace that unites the whole
And one day she meets the goal
Proved the actions, keep the all
All she know is action, promise
River converges to a distant ocean.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 12:23 AM UTC
dear reader,
will you please help me?
i am starving!
whoever you are
wherever you are
whenever you can:
feed me with money
don't you worry about ostensible risks for yourself your soul or your body:
rumors. spread by liars
who dare to call me a drug
truly, i'm starving for you.
sincerely
your favorite substance
Dec 16, 2019
Dec 16, 2019 at 8:01 AM UTC
Swanky sauntering swagger of a sashay. Verve’s chutzpah, moxie savvy's panache, dexterously agile acuity. Articulate coordinated excellence and prowess’s talented exceptional. Objectified manifest's dimensional delineation's eidetic prospectus' invertible investiture's infinite possibilities perpetrate incorporeity ideology's perfectible ontology!
Intrepid intuitive intrigue, mystical magical multifariously versatile nefarious nemesis. Malfeasance evocative tout, execrating eventuation evocative expletives, executant tour de force entelechy's apotheosis. Ne plus ultra irrefragable opulence, erudite illuminism numinous piquant poignancy. Dynamic livid lurid vagile puissance. Lucid orotund sonorous fecund resilience.
Eloquent exuberance felicitous transcendent epiphany. Nuance tactile audacious preternatural metaphysical clairvoyant imperative. Augur quantum ominous avant-garde profundity, virulent vivid indomitably indefatigable cogent fatidic, quintessential deft. Celerity innovative veracious metamorphic, adroit nimble avid austere.
Fulgurous astute atman clever crafty rapacious sagacious. Effulgent zealous fastuous temerity machismo enunciation diction, imperative repartee. Exserted protuberance educement proclivities succinctly ostentatious. Ardent arduous inductive adamant incursion ostensible hornswoggling swashbuckler!
Feb 22, 2024
Feb 22, 2024 at 11:41 PM UTC
i am a pendulum
oscillating between
ostensible antitheses,
elapsing like a ticking
time-bomb.
most days
i want to save the world.
but sometimes
i want to destroy
the entire cosmos.
ball up my fists and break
up the regimes
of bigots, rapists, and racists.
smash the militarists, misogynist
pigs, and Islamaphobes.
but that's the problem, isn't it?
in our self-indulgent belligerence
and fatuous ignorance, we utilize violence
deposing one tyrant just to install another,
eternally entombed in shackles.
i am too weak
to cure this suicidal impulse
and, in my obeisance,
i've stained my hands
red with crimson.
this death-drive sends us
spiraling into an abyss
we wrought for ourselves.
maybe we just want to watch
the world burn.
the ruptures we've torn
in mother earth
are eerily reminiscent
of our own fractured
mental health
and this sickness leaves me bipolar,
vacillating between two extremes:
fantasizing about the end of the world
and simply wanting to **** myself
to be done with this wretched hell.
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 12:05 AM UTC
In fantasy fallacies
Covetous malice is
Greediest deities'
Vanity palaces
Callous regarding
The weary and meek
The ostensible shepherds
Just wolves among sheep
Counting each of their
Unanswered prayers
Before sleep
Yet despair doesn't seem
To preclude
Pleasant dreams
Nor to render naivity scenes
To demean
What of logic and reason
Should clearly evince
They abandoned us long ago,
Haven't cared since
And their whereabouts
Unbeknownst
Mystery ways
Inexplicable how
They free will us
As slaves
The obsequious miscreant
False prophet faith
Inculcated in cults
Of a non-personality
Spreading its virulent
Indigent malady
Bow and prostrate yourselves
On your knees
Cowardly
Why fear what hasn't appeared
In the flesh
To be real
Why exalt higher powers
Except how you feel
Leaves me reeling,
Unraveling
Traveling
Gone again
Out to let go
And expose
Gods
As frauds of men
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 1:35 PM UTC
a gentle look of affirmation
eyes so beautiful
yet lost in the requiems march of time
don't lie.
A soft hand on the shoulder
a gentle kiss
the warm air on your cheek
reminiscent of an ambiguous time.
I took one path but found my story fell like a stone upon your chromatic life.
A long drive to the finish was only a perception in my mind.
My eyes were closed.
I never thought I'd wake up to the sound of your sorry voice and confused gaze.
Lay on your side and ill refresh your memory.
Did you really get comfortable in my pain?
The ache of my story was your cool glass of water.
A late talk is actually an early step in your game
I call foul play
but pawns never had a say with a queen.
My ostensible look
the facade of my game
a true story with no linearity
a heathen.
Concealing sadness
stay beyond reproach
yet careen into the oblivion that is love.
The shivering isles of our commentary.
The dark scare of being tucked in by a stranger.
The translucence of a foreigners eyes
my monotonous speech to your ever prevalent change.
Her persona.
a wave in the ocean.
The scarcity of oxygen.
The dearth for love and yearning of coitus.
Degradation of my psych
the wasting away of my body
a pleasant atrophy
your love kept on the fringe.
Decay like wood among a termitary.
I beg for your love to permeate the confounds of a yearning soul.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
Hell on earth, of dreams, the rushing of all
Ostensible the making of confessions, a trio.
Levants that pilgrims must travel, to improv
Even the word, which is left, but raw to me.
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 2:30 AM UTC
ground beef
nice dream
eat ****
keep it to yourself
whatever your intention is
it shows
i dare you to prove me wrong.
be kind, always.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 2:31 PM UTC